


Crimson on the snow

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [22]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Demonic Possession, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:35:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: He opened few clasps on his clothes and pulled out the necklace with a small vial. Despite the cold, he felt the warmness radiating from it. Vergil eyed the redness of the liquid. Warmth of the living body, colour of healthy blood.Zevran was in one piece.





	Crimson on the snow

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr drabble posted on Vergil's blog (icy-warden on tumblr) with minor edits. Writing inspired months ago by the chat with @raymurata about our Wardens and their success in finding the cure for the taint. (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ 
> 
> Timeline: two years after the events of DA:I’s Trespasser; Zevran and Vergil are following the leads on the cure.

The morning light was dull, grey clouds hanging heavily on the sky. There was the cold crispness in the air, the promise of a snow later. They deftly broke the camp, years of practice showing in their movements. The search brought them back to Ferelden and promised the so desired turn for the better.

* * *

They stopped at the crossroads, both of them with mission of their own to follow. None of them was fond of saying goodbyes, so they kept them short.

Or tried to.

“I gave you my spare blanket, check your packs later, if you’re cold.” Vergil said with a smirk, looking at Zevran fondly. “I know how miserable you are with winter, and it’d be only worse in three days.”

Zevran laughed and leaned in, kissing him lightly.

“I feel I’ll be freezing without you anyway, but thank you for the thoughtful gesture.”

Vergil raised an eyebrow. “You can always sleep beside your horse?” He said seriously, but cracked a small grin.

“You jest, but I might be doing just that. Still, not the same.” He sighed and brought their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “I don’t like you going alone there.” He murmured.

“We talked about it,” Vergil held onto Zevran’s waist with both hands. “Time is essential here and we cover more ground that way. We’ll meet at the tavern in three days.” The mage pecked Zevran’s lips.

“Be safe.” He whispered. Vergil felt a slight pang in his chest while saying this. 

After few more minutes of quiet murmurs and promises beetwen them, they reluctantly let go of each other and parted ways.

* * *

The information Vergil was investigating, turned out to be not what he was hoping to find. The journey was not completly useless, but not fruitful either. 

On his way to the tavern he tried to squash the disappointment. He learnt not to hold onto hope too tightly, but this lead was really promising. The mage sighed heavily. At least Zevran might be more lucky. 

He opened few clasps on his clothes and pulled out the necklace with a small vial. Despite the cold he felt the warmness radiating from it. Vergil eyed the redness of the liquid. Warmth of the living body, colour of healthy blood.

Zevran was in one piece.

He smiled slightly at the thought of his lover, imagining him whining at the snowy weather. He patted his horse’s neck. “Let’s get back quickly.”

He couldn’t wait to learn what Zevran had gathered. He also should have some time to prepare a steamy welcome.

* * *

Vergil arrived at noon and after eating some light meal at the tavern’s public area, he went to the room he rented. It was spacious and clean enough. He left his pack at the bed and walked around, checking the spots he could place the wards. After making sure everything was set, he grabbed a mug from the low table and poured some wine from his own canteen. 

It took a few sips and the sudden fire-like feeling spread from his stomach, fingers losing the hold on the cup. 

_Poison_, he thought with terror, hand instantly patting his belt for an universal antidote. He _tried_ to think clearly and not give into the fear and the sluggishness of his body. He knew he _had to_ throw up, then take the antidote. It should help slow the poison going further down in his system and give him the time to look properly in his pack. 

Zevran always made sure to prepare the vials. 

The mage staggered towards the bed, bringing his _so_ heavy hand to his mouth. The sound of his blood rushing fiercely in his head, nearly blocked the abpruptly cut scream of someone crossing his wards and getting burnt by them. He tried to make himself puke the contents of his stomach, when a gloved hand blocked his mouth, another twisting his arms painfully behind his back. 

Someone else grasped his hair and pulled back, something cold and heavy on his neck and he heard the muffled sounds of few people talking, poison going in his veins, weakening him further and _his magic, his magic,_ _it was fading, why it was fading..?_

The panic set in fully, as he couldn’t move held in an iron grip. He tried to see, the blurry figures constantly moving before, around him. One of his captors kicked him on the back of his knees, bringing him down, to kneel on the floor. 

He blinked through the haze of pain tears, when the person before him slapped his face. Blood welled in his mouth and he instinctively tried to spit it out, _not to drown in it._

“… you’re not listening, _Warden Commander,_” a man’s deep voice said mockingly. “The poison getting too fast? Or maybe it’s the collar, huh?” He grabbed Vergil’s face roughly, leaning in to look him in the eyes. “I said, you should know who sent us. You should know _why_ are you dying on a dirty floor in some backwater tavern.” His fingers clawed at the mage’s face painfully. “Someone like _you,_” the man spat, “has enemies who don’t _forget_, don’t forgive. Remember Amaranthine? You _let it burn to the ground-_”

The bloody spit on the man’s lips stopped him for a moment. Vergil sneered, looking at him with as much defiance he could muster. 

“Spare… details… _coward,”_ he croaked. The man looked furious and he stabbed the mage, under the ribs without touching the heart. Vergil only gasped at the cold then burning pain at his side. _More poison_, he thought hysterically, not paying attention to the rant of his executioner.

_I’ll die here. I can’t even defend myself. It’s not how it supposed to be, not **like this**, not without **him… **_

The world around him was losing the sounds and colours, his body not his own anymore when he heard it.

_The_ whisper.

** _“I’m here, pet.”_ **

_“Pride?”_

** _“You will not hold much longer. Let me in.”_ **

_“I…”_

** _“Let me at them. I will destroy these mortals for you. I will make them suffer.”_ **

_“…”_

_ **“They are destroying you. The vessel will not hold if you will not decide now, pet.”** _

_“… Make them pay. And keep him safe. You can’t harm him, you hear me? It’s your only chance.”_

** _“A bargain struck is a bargain kept.”_ **

_“If you won’t keep your word, **I swear**, I’ll find you even in the Void itself.”_

_ **“I do not lie.”** _

_“Good. Good. … Go.”_

_ **“Finally.”** _

_“Forgive me, ple-”_

* * *

Zevran was chatting with two women he met on his way back to the tavern. Their cart was full of vegetables and dairy products, which they sold as supplies. The snow was falling without break now, slowly but surely covering the land and roads. He had some good news for his Warden.

A sudden glow appeared in his peripheral vision. He looked at his chest, quickly pulling out the necklace. The glow of the vial was fading rapidly, the contents turning black. He stared at it with dread and brought it to his lips, feeling for the warmth. It was cold. 

Cold and black.

_“Impossible,” _he mumbled.

**_Impossible._**

He didn’t hear the women calling after him, when he gave the chase, urging his horse to run faster, faster through the snow. 

Only the roar of the wind and blood in his ears.

* * *

Pride was standing in the middle of the room, slowly licking its claws. **_  
_**

**_“The vessel will not hold much longer, even with my power”_**, it thought lazily. It wasn’t in a mood to bother with sustaining the body longer. It focused on the sounds around it. Not one living mortal nearby, only some small creatures. Pride looked at the floor, mangled corpses surrounding its form. The enemies of its vessel. It eyed them with disinterest. They died torn and bloody, screaming in horror and disbelief. Clawing into their flesh with its hands and hurting them with teeth, bringing the flow of warm liquid on its tongue - for a while, Pride felt something _more_, than the ashen taste of this world. 

The mortal world was bland and disappointing. 

Muted. 

How these creatures could stand this stillnes and silence? 

It shrugged with disgust. Then it cocked its head, hearing something from the outside. 

Sharp teeth glinted in a ghastly smile.

* * *

Zevran didn’t bother with checking for ambushes, only quickly scanning the surroundings of the tavern. He nearly fallen from his horse in his haste to get down. He ran to the main doors, yanking it open. 

The place was empty but the stench was unmistakable.

Zevran walked as in a dream, his legs leading him on their own.

Then he saw it.

The bodies on the floor, one person standing admidst them, despite the knives in _vital places_, he noted absentmindedly. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

_“Vergil,”_ he rasped, stepping towards the person. Because, it_ was_ his Warden, hurt so badly he shouldn’t even stand on his own, _impossible_, and he saw the eyes, golden black, demonic, and _no, oh no._

Vergil, no, _**it**,_ moved so swiftly he didn’t see it and collided with him, pinning his body to the wall. He couldn’t move, watching in horrid fascination as his… as **_it _**sniffed him, cold, obscene breath on his neck. _  
_

_“Lover,” _**_it_** purred with low voice, the second undertone heard clearly. Zevran stiffened at this and didn’t dare to_ hope_, when clawed hands come up to cradle his face, _so gently._

The glowing golden black eyes stared into his and **_it_** smiled. 

_“Be safe,”_**_ it_** murmured and the black faded, **_its_**,_ Vergil’s_ eyes closing, body suddenly stumbling forward. The dead weight brought Zevran down to the floor. 

He hold onto the mage in shock, wooden fingers searching for the pulse and finding _none._

* * *

It was dark when the women carrying supplies arrived at the place of the massacre. They recognized their friendly road companion in the figure emerging from the building. He seemed not to notice them, as in his arms he carried a bundle of blankets, in the size of a person. They observed in silence as he whistled at his horse, the animal obediently folding it’s legs to lie on the ground, to ease the climb without letting go of the blankets. They watched him disappear in the dark.

* * *

_ **\+ An alternative ending** _

Zevran woke up, the dream fading, details blurring instantly. 

He was panicked and with the burning feeling of despair in his chest. For a moment he didn’t know _where_ he was, the light of the moon casting the tent’s walls in eerie glow. The body he held onto stirred, a voice husky with sleep calling _“Zevran?”_. 

Zevran tried to respond, but his throat was so dry, he only managed to cough. The person moved away, there was some rustling and delicate light of a wisp appeared. 

“Here, drink,” he sat up and took the canteen with gratitude. He drank, until he felt, he could talk without coughing and looked up at Vergil. The mage was observing him quietly, taking back the empty bottle. 

“Alone?” Vergil asked, ready to move out of the way, to give him some privacy. 

“No. No, just…” Zevran spread his arms in silent request. Vergil eyed him for a moment longer, making sure he’s all right, and went to him willingly. They moved until there was no space between their bodies, the warmth of blankets, and both of them lulling Vergil back to sleep. 

But Zevran couldn’t close his eyes without the frightening chill coming back, so he kept watch, listening to the noises outside and soft breaths of his lover.

* * *

“I don’t like you going alone there.” He murmured, holding Vergil. He felt a pang in his chest when saying it.

“We talked about it.” Vergil held onto Zevran’s waist with both hands. “Time is essential here and we cover more ground that way. We’ll meet at the tavern it three days.” The mage pecked Zevran’s lips.

“Be safe,” he heard Vergil whisper. 

The sudden wave of nightmare images made him stumble slightly.

“Zev-” “**_NO!_**” he shouted, clutching at the mage’s shoulders. Vergil looked at him, slightly alarmed.

“No, you _can’t_ go there alone. I… I have this feeling, you _must go with me,_” he blurted in hurry, eyes bright.

“Zevran,” the mage sighed, “I’ll be fine and-”

“_You’re not listening!_” a desperate note crept into his voice. “We must _not _part, I’ve seen, I-I... mean. I...,” he stopped, frustrated. He needed to convince his Warden to change the _so_ carefully crafted plan.

“Are you feeling unwell?” the mage asked, teeth catching the glove and bringing up his hand to feel Zevran’s forehead and back of the neck, searching for the fever.

Zevran leaned into the touch, whispering. “Just come with me. _Please_.”

At this point Vergil was concerned. He was nearly sure that his lover caught a cold and started having some nasty temperature rise. It was more civilized where Zevran was supposed to go, so he didn’t think long when deciding.

“All right. We’ll go after your lead.” 

Suddenly both of them were on the floor, Vergil’s lap full of Zevran, holding him so tightly he couldn’t catch a breath. 

“You’re choking me,” He wheezed. The other man loosened his embrace, enough to bury his face in the mage’s throat and sob.

“_Why _are you crying? Are you hurt?” Vergil tried to pry him off to get a better look, but Zevran refused to budge. 

“Just… relieved,” He mumbled, “_really, really relieved._”


End file.
